My sister and I sat and wrote in various notebooks in our parents’ living room for most of the day today. We laughed at how many we both had, each with a slightly different use. We talked about how notebooks—buying for ourselves, giving as gifts—are the gift of space.
In September, a few of my artist friends and I went on a weekend getaway. This group loves gifts, so, true to form, we all showed up with something to share—including vintage nightgowns to hand-drawn stickers. Part of my gift was a piece of ornate, gilded, blank Italian stationary (that stationary will be the subject of another newsletter, one I don’t start at 11:30 p.m.). Over the course of the weekend, each friend wrote themselves a letter. They addressed it and told me when they would like me to put it in the mail over the next year. I wanted to give these women, my women, the gift of space, of reflection.
It’s in that spirit that I offer you the same, on this Sunday night in the dark, sleepy period between Christmas and the new year. I have come up with some questions that I hope gently prod some reflection. When you open this email, hit reply. You can send your answers to me or to yourself. You could even schedule the email to be sent to your future self! You can also just think your answers to yourself. Wow, so many options. You’re welcome.
What made you feel good this past year?
What do you want to leave behind?
What did you learn this past year that you want to live out fully in this next year?
What is your one-word mantra for 2022? (Mine is “acceptance.”)
What is your biggest, deepest wish for 2022?
Until next week, when I might remember what day it is before 11 p.m. (Unlikely!)
Elizabeth